


Barricade Day Poem, (2013)

by EnjolrasWould



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Barricade Day, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjolrasWould/pseuds/EnjolrasWould
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple lyrical poem from last year's Barricade Day. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barricade Day Poem, (2013)

Barricade Day

There was a young man, a chief,  
And his name was Enjolras.  
He was brave and strong and good  
As any other man was.  
He believed in liberty  
And defended what was right.  
Eight bullets were his poison.  
Eight bullets end the fight.  
He cried only a single tear.  
Enjolras, we rise for you.

There was a young man, a guide,  
And his name was Combeferre.  
He was gentle and bright and good  
As any other man there.  
He believed in progress  
And defended what was right.  
The bayonet was his poison.  
Three stab wounds, and the sky.  
He left his mother behind.  
Combeferre, we march for you.

There was a young man, a poet,  
And his name was Jehan Prouvaire.  
He was timid and intrepid and good  
As any other man dared.  
He believed in love  
And defended what was right.  
The volley was his poison.  
With the blindfold, night.  
Who cares for the flowers now?  
Jehan, we sing for you.

There was a young man who made fans  
And his name was Feuilly.  
He was loyal and determined and good  
As any other could see.  
He believed in equality  
And defended what was right.  
The bullet was his poison.  
"Vivent les peuples," and goodbye.  
He had but three francs a day.  
Feuilly, we strive for you.

There was a young man, the center,  
And his name was Coufeyrac.  
He was warm and playful and good  
As any other man was.  
He believed in fraternity  
And defended was was right.  
The cannon was his poison.  
The cannon took his light.  
His hat sits in tatters a few feet away.  
Coufeyrac, we smile for you.

There was a young man, a fighter,  
And his name was Bahorel.  
He was daring and wild and good  
As any other man could tell.  
He believed in freedom  
And defended what was right.  
The bayonet was his poison.  
One stab wound, one lost fight.  
Rash waistcoats can’t fool Death.  
Bahorel, we fight for you.

There was a young man from Meaux  
And his name was Lesgles.  
He was witty and unlucky and good  
As any other man could say.  
He believed in happiness  
And defended what was right.  
The bullet was his poison.  
But that is part of life.  
He died with a smile on his lips.  
Bossuet, we laugh for you.

There was a young man, a medic,  
And his name was Joly.  
He was careful and jolly and good  
As any other man could be.  
He believed in harmony  
And defended what was right.  
No illness was his poison.  
The bullet took his life.  
He left one lover behind.  
Joly, we love for you.

There was a young man, a drunkard,  
And his name was Grantaire.  
He was cynical and broken yet good  
As any other man there.  
He believed in Enjolras  
And defended what was right.  
A bullet was his poison.  
At dawn: two hands clasped tight.  
At last, he could see clearly.  
Grantaire, we hope for you.

There was a group of young men  
Called Les Amis de l’ABC.  
They were brave and strong and good  
And more than you and me.  
They believed in a better world  
And defended what was right.  
Love was their only poison.  
They didn’t last the night.  
The dawn rises without them.  
Mes amis, we cry for you.


End file.
